


1%

by FoyaBeninax



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, Al Gore - Freeform, Alfred F. Jones - Freeform, Crossover, F/M, M/M, george w. bush - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoyaBeninax/pseuds/FoyaBeninax
Summary: After the election result was determined, Alfred F. Jones needed to do The Ritual, which was having sexual intercourse with the president elected. And this year he realized his expectation didn't quite match the reality ...





	

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to [CarrotCesca](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrotCesca) who helped me so much! Love you!  
> English is my second language and all suggestions of improvement are welcomed :)  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

About The Ritual:

It tracks back to the time-honored Celtic history and culture:

“Medhbh (or Medb) is perhaps the clearest example of the goddess of sovereignty with whom the new King had to mate before he was recognized as such…Once the ritual had been performed, his rule and authority were assured.

Two ways of confirming sovereignty: intercourse with the goddess's human representative or with her totem animal…”

— _The Witches’ Goddess_ by Janet  & Stewart Farrar.

So it happens in the alternative universe of Axis Power Hetalia world, at least in this version, that the newly elected president performs the same ritual with the personification of America to be recognized as the leader of the country.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Ritual was going to be performed this night, no matter who would win the presidency. However, he could foretell the result, like he had always done in all the election days of the past hundreds of years. How couldn’t he? He was the personification of United States of America, Alfred F. Jones. He sensed people’s joy and sadness, fear and dream, expectation and disappointment. In a national event like this, his emotion and feeling were framed upon the majority of population’s intention and expectation.

“Would you like to meet with the candidates before it starts?” One of the Security Officers, Captain Jones—happened to be another Jones since there were so many of them—stepped in and asked, “I was briefed that you had a flexible schedule but I have to remind you of certain things.”

“Thank you for your concern, Jude. I just came back from Trump’s before your shift started.” Alfred said, turned around and eyed on Captain Jones, with a smile on his face, “I do have a flexible schedule so I visited as early as possible so that I don’t have to suffer the traffic again.”

“Then I guess the result is clear to you.” Captain Jones said, and let out a deep breath.

“I made mistakes too, but not many. Four out of forty-four. Acceptable.”

“Already good enough.”

“And that would never happen again. Even last time there was a rumor about how a conspiracy was involved and the result was not valid, blah blah. But I prefer sparing this topic. And the very first three were all in the 19th century, pff, if only I could remember their names.” Alfred took a sip from the glass he was holding, “This time, I can sense it and I am sure about my feeling. That’s what I do as the personification of this country. Besides, you read the news; you know the result of the opinion poll. What else can I tell you?”

“You don’t have to. I got what you said.” Captain Jones nodded. He was not as excited as Alfred. Of course, nobody was.

“Well, as far as I can tell, the opinion poll is merely a reference. I actually don’t sense that huge gap as it showed. But you know, even 1% makes a difference. One person makes history. I am positive about that.”

“Always.” The Captain replied, picked up the briefcase of Alfred’s, “Are you ready?”

“Hold on, let me finish my drink first. You should try this one when you are off duty. It is fantastic and suits for a day like this.” Alfred took another sip, and gazed the wine wobbling in the crystal glass, “I just need a few more minutes.”

“Take your time.”

“Thank you, Jude, you are always patient with me.” Alfred turned his eyes back to the window. He adjusted his glasses and watched a bunch of people walking past the street with the stars and stripes flag. It feels great to see someone care. Alfred thought.

“Oh, Jude. Could you please check upstairs to see if they are getting ready for The Ritual? I know it doesn’t take long but just want to make sure. I hate having my new president wait.”

“Seems like you can’t wait for The Ritual.” Captain Jones said, with a sly grin on his face.

“It is my obligation. I am just being dutiful as any citizen should be, although I am not a citizen. I never get to vote.” He laughed as he said.

“You have your privilege that I would like to exchange for with the right to vote.”

“Fair enough.”

Captain Jones stepped upstairs and Alfred sat back idly into the chair. It was getting dark and the historical moment awaited to be revealed on this beautiful night.

“All good, Alfie.” Captain Jones was back after a few minutes with his thumbs up.

“Thank you. Everything is up to the plan.”

“I am wondering, if the president was a woman, would The Ritual be…different? I mean, em…just, out of curiosity. You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like to.”

Alfred laughed, “oh come on, my friend. It is 21st century now, you are still ashamed of talking about The Ritual? How many girls have you hooked up already? I bet more than the number of presidents we had throughout American history.”

“Hey!” Captain Jones protested, and laughed as well.

“If you want to know, I would say, this is just part of my job.” Alfred said, “Someone believes that it is sacred and important and it means so much, blah blah. For me personally, it’s all about serving the taxpayers. I mean, nobody paid for THAT…but, you know, that’s how ‘ nature’ works—to the best ability I can articulate it. Just in terms of The Ritual, I never made having intercourse a bit deal; and nobody ever did. It is The Ritual, end of story. So to say, man or woman, does it matter in this case? Especially for a being like me? Nah, never. Gender simply doesn’t make much sense to me. It is just a way of being, and it could be one way or another. I couldn’t care less about anybody else’s gender either. Carry the mission out, boom!” Alfred hit his fist on his palm, “Too easy, huh?”

It was his “official announcement” whenever talking about this topic, only him knew deep in heart that it was totally a lie.The little secretive adoration rooted in his heart and was sprouting as the election result drawing near. He was no human being and felt and thought and lived very much different as humans did, but he also cherished the humanity he held in his heart, no matter how slight it is.

It was The Ritual of sovereignty and authority, about the sacred union between a trusted leader and the great nation; it was, on the other hand, sex by the very nature. He knew the old saying. “Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.” Maybe that could explain why it had to be sex rather than anything else. For Alfred, this was always more than an obligation that required to be fulfilled. As the approval rating of a certain candidate grew to a point that this person was clear to be the winner, he started to feel the love—reflection of the tie between the people and the president-to-be, of the choice of the citizens; the love was also a reminder of his personality and humanity, a reminder of what a unique soul he had. He was proud and grateful about the fact; therefore he admired the presidents in a personal level in The Ritual for what they brought to him, just him as an individual.

“Yeah…everyone has their job to do, you as well. When I think about it I realized…thought I always keep that in my mind, but sometimes I have to re-realize it: You lived hundreds of years yet look like a nineteen years old young man.” Captain Jones nodded, “It is amazing but it’s also very hard for me to stand in your shoes. I am too young to understand all of what you just talked.”

“Right, I don’t blame you.” Alfred said, “I am young too, as a country. But I, I mean we stand on the shoulder of the giant. We build our civilization upon the cornerstone of numerous great cultures. When talking about the history and the development of society and civilization, you and me, we are the same.”

“And you are making new history.”

“We are. Tonight. Right here is this city. I witness all the great moments.” Alfred threw back his head and finished up his wine. “Alright, Jude, sorry for my mumbling and the waiting. Let’s move on.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Alfie.” He grabbed the key, “Javits Center.”

“Lead the way, Captain,” Alfred raised from the chair and spread his arms up to the air, “lead the way.”

 

 

Alfred leaned on the seat of a government owned limousine. The TV was on, of course, it was about the election. Voting started ten minutes ago and the street was packed with people. The limousine moved as slow as a snail in the stream of traffic. Alfred was not in a hurry at all, although he could not wait to meet with the future president. He felt carefree and leisurely, as everything seemed to go as planned. Captain Jones seated straight and was on guard. He was a dutiful man; not so much for his family, but for his job, he always was.

Alfred picked up an old magazine that somehow was left in underneath the seat. The vehicle should have been cleaned thoroughly every time someone rode on it. He had no clue why the magazine was there and seemed like it had been there for decades. As a matter of fact, it was. He saw the handsome face of Al Gore’s on the magazine cover. The date on the cover page said 2000.10.

A chill crawled over his spine.

“You alright?” Captain Jones asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Alfred frowned, “Please let the cleaning personnel know, if they can’t do their job properly, we can always find a replacement.”

“Roger that. But…you sure you’re good? You look…mad, a little bit.”

“Am I? Well, I think it is because of the traffic jam.” Alfred’s fingers kept pinching and twisting the edge of the magazine unconsciously, almost torn the pages.

“This is the election night of the GREAT New York City, what are you expecting?”

“Not a damn thing.”

He felt the anger that the Captain talked about. No, it was not anger, but something else. Something felt…off. He glared at the magazine. Gore, the one who won the popular vote but lost the presidency. It was so close, only 5 electoral votes away. It was a tremendous disappointment for Alfred. He was utmost upset and angry when the results came out. That was what happened when the results failed to match the expectation of the majority of the population. Sometimes he was upset about the fact that the popular vote decided his feeling, instead of the electoral vote, though the former made more sense.

He was looking at the magazine at the moment as all the memory flashing in his mind. Gore was smiling on the cover, with radiation of confidence and victorious posture. He was so fabulous at that moment, the best Alfred could ever expect in decades. Before The Ritual, his disappointment grew even higher at a personal level for a personal reason. It was not a pleasant night at all.

Alfred felt weird, almost sinister. He dropped the magazine grimly with its cover facing down. Before Alfred could find some distractions to discard the unpleasantness, the limousine parked at the gate.

Captain Jones got off the vehicle and opened the door for Alfred. They walked past the gate and the main entry. People seemed excited. They were applauding and screaming. Hillary was about ten votes behind Trump at the moment they walked in, but Alfred was not worried at all. He was confident about his feeling and he had faith in the people. He had to.

“My goodness, look who’s here!”

A large door opened, Alfred saw Hillary Clinton striding towards him. They shook hands, and then hugged. Something amazing boiled in his heart. When he held the woman in his arms, he had a warm and fuzzy feeling sprouted from his chest, maneuvering all the way down to the tips of his fingers and made a tiny tingling. The feminine inner personality of him, the _anima_ , was awakening. He felt a sweet roaming sense of wholeness growing inside him. He remembered one day, maybe a few months ago, someone from Hillary’s campaign staff joked with him saying “you don’t look as much a while as you were”, and he took it as a compliment.

He didn’t feel the love at that moment, but today he did, clear and sound. He was filled with joy when he saw this woman, the first female president-to-be, the creator of American history. He was excited and grateful.

“You look very confident about the election, Hillary.”

“Because I have faith in YOU.”

Alfred took a seat, and Hillary sat down next to him. The team was busy around and they were the only two seated and talking, taking a glance at the screen at times.

“You are right, they will. I feel it. Should I say congratulations in advance?”

“Save it for later…until The Ritual maybe.” Hillary smiled, with a lower and softer voice.

“You are ready for it, aren’t you?” Alfred grinned.

“Always ready for you, Alfie.” Hillary fixed up her hair, saying, “I wish I was younger. I looked way better a few years back. I am so much aged.”

“Nonsense. You look just wonderful as you are.” Alfred took Hillary’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Hilary smiled, with a flush on her cheeks.

“Never better than you are. Every time I see you, you are always great and perfectly gorgeous, my dear America.”

“And I believe you, as a president, can make me, every citizen in this country, even better.”

Hillary grinned, “You have my promise, Alfie.”

He gazed at her into her eyes. He felt the love expanding into his whole body, like a tide rising in his soul. The personifications of countries were filled with all kinds of emotions from all sources. For America, it was about the citizens. People brought up their feelings to him. Today during the presidency campaign, the prevailing emotion was the love to the most promising candidate, rooted in people’s expectation and admiration to the future leader. The nation as a whole was looking forward to a new president, as he did right at the moment.

He wanted to kiss her, but it was not the time yet. A beautiful night was awaiting. He could give himself more patience and save the pleasure for later.

The possessive love would be gone after a few days, that Alfred knew for sure, as it always did. He sometimes hated the presidents when they messed up the economy or policy, or the ones that simply just had a bad luck. And when most of them retired, he acted indifferently and sometimes even coldly cruel. However there is nothing wrong with that; on the contrary, it was how everything supposed to work. The connection between the country, specified on Alfred as an individual, with the national leader was never the same as the long lasting romantic relationship between two humans.

However, the future of the relationship was too early to be brought up. All that mattered to him was right at the moment with the love itself, nothing more, nothing less.

They talked and laughed, clapped their hands at times. The conversation was brief yet full of fun. Alfred forgot about the screen and immersed himself into the conversation. He couldn’t move his eyes away from the woman sitting in front of him. She was his hope and future.

All in a sudden, in the split vision, his eyes captured a familiar face on the screen. The guy looked like George W. Bush. But as he looked closer, he found he made a mistake. The sinister feeling that he experienced in the limousine sneaked back from the tailbone all the way up to his scalp.

“You alright?” Hillary asked, “you look a little agitated. Everything is good?”

“Yeah, I believe so.” He replied, “It’s just…” He took another glare at the screen, Trump was still somewhat ahead of Hillary in electoral college numbers, and it seemed that more states were appeared to be red-leaded.

“Don’t worry, I know I…we will win. And you know better.” Hillary said softly.

“I usually do.”

“Of course, I know you well.”

“But, to be honest, I am not feeling the strong emotion and certainty that I experienced in most of the elections, even less than a few days ago. Do you know what I mean?”

Hillary did know him well. She didn’t answer but asked a question instead: “Does it match the opinion poll?”

“No way even close.”

“Well…” Hillary’s eyes moved off the screen, “only Heaven knows then.”

“But I do feel the people are for you.” Alfred added, “I have faith in you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Alfie.”

He hugged her again before he left. He had to be back and wait in the mansion until The Ritual started. Although he still had a few hours to lingering around before the final results came out, it was never a bad idea to get ready early.

“Who did you vote for, Jude?” Stepping out of the door, Alfred asked Captain Jones.

“Er…Hillary…I guess.” Captain Jones scratched his hair uneasily.

“You GUESS?” Alfred frowned. Somehow the image of Gore and Bush flashed in his mind. He tried the best to ignore it.

“Yeah, I mean, I am an absentee voter. It has been a while since I mailed the ballot. And I was extremely busy after that. I forgot a lot of things, even my son’s birthday and my aunt’s…”

Alfred shook his head and interrupted, “but how the hell could you even forget who you voted for? Do you even care?”

“Well, maybe, a little. Not as much as you do, of course.”

 

 

 

Upon arriving the mansion, Alfred rushed into his room and grabbed the remote control with one sleeve of his jacket on and the other off his arm. He hit the power button and dropped both his jacket and remote to the bed. He hit the empty wine bottle when he tried to bring the jacket to the clothes rack. Then he saw Hillary lost Ohio, and Florida was red-leading.

“Fuck.” He cursed, picking up the bottle, and hung the jacket. It could, and should have been easier than this, yet he still hoped for the best. Most swinging states were still up in the air, and some of the traditionally blue states were not even closed yet.

Alfred crossed his fingers and walked into the bathroom. A hot shower could comfort any unease. He hummed and sang and even tried to dance a little on the wet slippery floor. The tense seemed to ease off a bit. He believed there was some relieving news out there.

Hillary was leading when he put his clothes on. At a moment he thought about just being naked and hold a bottle of champagne, waiting at the staircase.The idea was crazy but fancy, he walked up to the second floor and double-checked that everything was prepared well, then went back to his room and decided to use the clothes to fend off the coldness.

 _But that was a good idea._ Alfred thought. _I can do that later when I have the results in hand._

And something felt wrong a while later. Trump started to lead all in a sudden and it stayed that way. Alfred’s breath was heavier and his muscle tensed up. Out of annoyance  he turned off the TV and opened up his laptop. All the talking and commercials were pushing him to the edge. He needed to focus,  only the election and maybe some music.

He opened up an election-live website and started staring at the screen. Despite the auto-refreshment, he pressed F5 every few seconds.

The music playing in the background started to fade away from him. He was fully focused, eyes fixed on the screen. He saw everything red or blue, no other colors. It started to get intriguing when he realized he had never, at least in a few decades, felt so much anxiety and unease during an election.

 _Something is going wrong._ He thought.

For a moment Hillary got back the same votes as Trump did. Alfred held his hands at his chest. The red-leading states looked still more promising than the blues, and despite his unwillingness, Trump’s number jumped up again.

It was like riding a roller coaster, only a few feet up when he was expecting a few more traditionally blue states to hit the result, and then when the result was released, it plummeted all the way down to hell. Michigan was red, as well as Wisconsin. Alfred started to breathe rapidly. His eyes were filled with tears. It was so intense that he lost control of himself and smashed the remote on the wall.

Bang!

“What’s happening!” Captain Jones rushed into the room, weapon ready, “are you alright?”

“Nothing, just …being a little bit carried away.” He looked at the Captain, “who the hell did you vote for, Jude?”

Captain Jones lowered his weapon and stared at the screen. There was no suspense at all. Most of the remaining swinging states were red-leading. Hillary could only pray for a miracle, or accept the failure.

“Well, sorry I lied earlier, but you know…I…well, I voted for Trump.”

Before “fuck off” was burst out of his lips, Alfred held his breath, and lowered his head.

“It’s fine. It is your right as a citizen to vote whoever you want to, isn’t it?” He said with a soft voice, “But…you didn’t have to lie. It would be alright.”

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Alfred smiled wryly, “Well...” He was about to say “you did anyway”, but instead, he said, “I understand.”

“Feel better, Alfie.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Captain Jones left the room. Alfred was still shaking. He lied again. He didn’t get disappointed much, actually very rarely. But when a president lost the popular vote, it happened. It was like the feeling of being divided within himself. The house might never divide as it used to in the history, but his heart felt the splitting pain from the division of people. The torment lured down in his soul, and never ended.

He started to cry, seeing the red number growing behind the veil of tears. Fear and desperation spread within him—within the people. The people of the U.S. was scared, angry, and hopeless. He was just the one who took the pain of the people as a whole and bore the pain of the loss of love and hope.

Pennsylvania was gone. The popular vote was still on Hillary’s side but it mattered nothing already. He turned off the laptop. As much as he was struggling in pain, he was trying to bring back his rationality and figure out why he was feeling that way. But he was too exhausted to think.

“Jude, can you do me a favor?” Alfred asked.

“Yes?”

“Could you bring me some water and tissue?”

“On my way.”

Alfred took the cup and tissue box. He spilled some water when drinking and wet his shirt.

“Are you alright?”

“Why not?”

“Because...I don't know. Do you have a preference for a certain candidate?”

“You know it is not me, at least mostly not me.”

“What about the non-‘mostly’ part?” Captain Jones approached near, “You do have a preference do you?”

“I am a person too. But it doesn’t matter. I can do whatever shitty job tossed on me. It’s OK. But since I am miserable like this, it is definitely not only me who feels miserable. My personal feeling and preference are the least important concern right now.”

“I just want you to feel better. That’s all that I can do now.”

“No, you can’t.” Alfred forced a smile, but more looked like deriding, and raised. “I think you want to watch the winning speech. You voted for him. I will go upstairs and you can watch the TV here. There is a spare remote in the drawer.”

“Thank you, but I am on duty.”

“I don’t know what is this stupid duty for!” Alfred yelled,“They waste manpower to protect somebody who can’t even be harmed by normal people; yet I am hurting right here,” he knocked on his chest, “but nothing could protect me from it. How sarcastic!”

Captain Jones shook his head, “Sorry, I don’t make the call.”

“Whatever, whatever. I offered. Take it or not, it’s up to you.”

Alfred dragged his legs towards the door. He didn’t turn on the light in the hallway or staircase. He walked into the pure darkness and began to hear voices on TV, the applause, and cheer of the crowd.

 

 

 

 

He didn’t enter the ritual room but walked into a guest room instead. _Screw the naked-champagne-ready-surprise idea._ He thought. He didn’t need champagne; he needed more tissues.

He threw himself into the bed, tried to empty his brain.

He fell asleep for a little bit, or at least the thought he did. When he opened his eyes, he saw Donald Trump’s face. He had to admit, as much as he tried to be neutral and non-judging, this is not an appetizing face right there in front of him, not at all. Not in a political way, but in terms of personal preference of someone he'd like to spend a night with, he would choose Hillary. But as he said, it was the least important concern at the moment.

“Sorry about you are not feeling well. But I have to come here.”

“Of course you do.” As Alfred struggled up from the bed, tears gathering up again.

“Well, I know how you feel. I don’t feel good losing the popular vote either. I deserved better.”

“You had more than you deserved already.” Alfred frowned.

As much as Alfred hated showing his tears in front of this man, he could not help. He knew how many people were crying out there in the chilling wind, or in a warm room. He knew how many people were going frenzy, for joy or desperation. It didn’t matter anymore. His hair was wet. His shirt was wet and wrinkled. His eyes were burning and swollen, with tears rolling down uncontrollably. He felt like crap and looked even more like crap in the mirror.

Trump patted on Alfred’s arm, “The ritual is ready?”

“That’s all you care about.”

“I actually don’t, but it’s part of my job.” Trump shrugged. “And just stop whining and do your job.”

“Holy shit man.” Alfred jerked off from the bed,  “I’m sorry but I don’t mean to be crying like a piece of crap. It’s not even ME, you know that, MR. PRESIDENT.” Alfred sneered.

“That title is too early for me yet, but I can use it,” Trump smirked. “Listen, being the president is important for me, as I said in the speech just a moment ago. I bet you didn’t watch it but it’s all good. Let’s just get the job done and carry on, alright?”

 _Oh, The Ritual, right. The worst is yet to come._ Alfred thought. Usually after the election, with more than 50% popular vote and him having the joyfulness and satisfaction in his heart, The Ritual was fascinating. Even just a tiny lead could make it a wonderful night. But with the president losing the popular vote, even 1% made The Ritual a very distasteful torture for him. However, today he felt disgusted and fearful. He didn’t believe it was the 1% difference leading to such a strong resentment and negativity. But what was that?

 _This is fucking crazy._ Alfred thought. _What’s happening on this land?_

Alfred was shaking, holding his head in his arms, crying, yet wanting to laugh. Trump sighed and passed him some tissue. He just sat there like a piece of wood sculpture, all of his limbs refusing to move.

“I am sorry. I mean, I do like the result but I don’t. But I do.” Trump said, “And the most importantly, you have to understand, this is actually not up to me either. It is the REALITY. You have to accept it. It is the choice of the majority of the people.”

“Do you ever know what the fuck you are talking about for at least one time?” Alfred lifted his eyelids and glared at Trump.

“Come on. It’s only 1%.”

“But 1% counts. Even one single citizen counts.”

“Whatever. Convincing you is not part of my job. But I’m just wondering, were you like this when Bush won the presidency without winning the popular vote in 2000?”

“No way even close. I didn’t cry. I was just annoyed.” Alfred sneered, “And to be honest, I wish Bush was here instead of you right now.”

Trump seemed to be pissed off and Alfred enjoyed the trivial triumph against him.

“You know what? You look just like one of the crybaby millennials who's protesting on the street right now. Mind your attitude Alfie! You're talking to your boss! The soon-to-be president!” Trump scolded.

“Technically you are not MY boss. And just so you know, Trump, it is not me. Go tell your PEOPLE about it and ease their grief. I will appreciate it so damn much.”

Then he heard the doorbell rang. Captain Jones opened the door as they both moved to the stairs. Hillary appeared in the shimmering light.

Alfred wanted to hide, but even the thoughts of hiding made him feel ridiculous. He faked a wry smile to Hillary. As she walked up, he saw tear marks underneath her eyes. She looked like a different woman as he met in the evening. It was only a few hours but it seemed like she has aged for years.

“Congratulations, Donald.” Hillary shook Trump’s hand with a smile of formality.

“Thank you, Hillary.” He was also masked with politeness, or at least he tried to be.

Hillary’s lips twitched a bit, seemingly wanting to say something but held it back eventually. Then she turned to Alfred.

“I apologize, Alfie. I disappointed you.”

 _She was right; she disappointed me and the American people._ Alfred thought. He held the grudge but at the very same time, love remained. It was so complicated and he tried not to confront it directly.

“It’s alright. And sorry for your loss.”Alfred said, lowered his head as low as he could.

“I’m fine with the result.” She grabbed his arm gently, “Alfie, I am here to say goodbye.”

“Well...yeah…” He didn’t know what to say. Trump was just a few steps away, eyeing on them. It made the whole situation even more embarrassing.

“I know how you feel right now, and I am responsible...”

“No, you aren’t,” Trump said with a low but clear voice.

 _Just shut the fuck up so I can hate her instead of you dumbass._ Alfred glared at Trump and turned back to Hillary. He wanted to say something mean to her, but the soft and warm feeling was undeniable. He just couldn’t; at this moment, he even lost the ability to lie.

“But no worries. You will do better, with or without me. No matter how it hurts tonight, or whatever you feel towards me, tomorrow it will be all gone. Isn’t it?”

Alfred nodded, yet shook his head afterward, “Love might not remain, but the pain and resentment will. I can tell that by sensing the people.”

“Sadly true. But, I know the greatest nation always recovers.” Hillary smiled, with tears in her eyes.

“Hopefully.”

“I have faith in you and everyone.”

He wanted to bid his farewell and tell her to leave. But as she held his hand, he felt the warmth and just didn’t want to let go. He remembered that he used to hate both of the candidates. But after a year, everything changed. It could be a compromise or a full acceptance, or both, but the feeling was real. Even the truth was he “had to” love. It was still love, the touching, and warm fuzzy feeling.

 _It is so ironic, but it will be alright._ Alfred shut his eyes and told himself.

“I...just want to say,” Alfred said with great effort, “thank you for all you have done, Hillary.”

“It’s my honor and great pleasure.”

“And...er, sorry you see me so messed up. I know I look terrible, but...em…”

“Nonsense.” Hillary smiled and put her palm on Alfred’s cheek, wiping his tears, “you are always great and perfectly gorgeous, my dear America, always.”

The warm feeling exploded like a mini N-bomb quietly in his chest. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. He touched Hillary’s face and pulled her to him. He kissed her on her lips, fast and softly.

“Thank you.” She seemed surprised, yet very pleased.

“Farewell. Take care.”

“Farewell, Alfie. God bless you.”

After gazing Hillary walking into the dark night until her figure was engulfed by the deep darkness, Alfred closed the door and walked back upstair.

“Oh, how touching.” Trump clapped and smirked, “and I’m glad it’s finally done.” He rounded his arm on Alfred’s shoulder. He knew what that suggested.

He felt numb. He could not even imagine what would happen in The Ritual, though he knew it well. Why did it have to be sex? Alfred thought he finally found out the answer on his own: Sex could be the most sacred and fulfilling thing in the world, the initiation of promising beginnings; but it could also be the most unholy and disgusting nightmare that destroys a person, or anything, everything.

 _Just like power in different hands._ Alfred said silently to himself. _So why not sex? Nothing ever makes more sense than that._

“It’s not.” Alfred grinned, replying, “It is just the beginning.” He already stopped crying, though tears were still swirling in his eyes.

 _“Do you hear the people sing?”_ The tone emerged in Alfred’s mind as he murmured the question. _Oh,_   _I do._

“What do you mean, Alfie?”

“I mean, The Ritual.” He kissed Trump on his face, “I am ready, Mr. President.”


End file.
